


Welcome to the Machine

by BlueDreams



Category: Half-Life
Genre: Brain Damage, Explicit Language, Gen, Mentions of Violence, POV First Person, barney's seen a lot in those 20 years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 03:11:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueDreams/pseuds/BlueDreams
Summary: A rundown of Barney's time in the CP





	Welcome to the Machine

Hell if I wanted to do this job. But I was the only one fit enough to do these sorts of missions, and the only one trusted enough to pull it off. There weren’t any _benefits_ that looked better than a minimum wage security job had back in the day but I get that Eli and Kleiner wanted to play it safe. The Civil Protection attracted a lot of people who just hated the world, so maybe that’s why it seemed so popular. 

I didn’t start out as a trained rat. After the Combine finally put the boot to everyone’s hopes, I was a regular underground fighter. I’ll be the first to admit I was maybe _too_ lively when I finally got to shoot the bastards. Not even shoot, just a chance to fight back. Anyway, a few years passed and we had lost too many scouts and not enough to replace them. Even the vorts could only do so much if there wasn’t already another one that took the bullet and offered itself as a POW. Besides, the older you get, two things happen. You get tired of killing, or you see it as normal as farming. And I didn’t want to take that risk.

I took Eli’s suggestion that someone with my security experience could be a good undercover CP officer. Less death and more information. Sounded like a win/win. Then I remembered “Shit, they probably remember my face killing their goons.” I played it safe and started off cutting my hair to a buzzcut and putting on a deranged kind of expression. Like those movies where the character’s head is down but looks at the camera. I wanted to play up how much I lost it after I “defected” from the Resistance. The Combine took the bait with ease.

My first days were regular training procedures. Building relationships with the community (through fear), deescalation (with a baton), the same old drill. Now you don't have to be wise to see what the usual officer does. On a good day, he’ll just block you off from buildings. A normal day, he’ll shove you around or some other physical harassment to show your place. Or to get his kicks on a slow day. And this was in the town square.

I got around to doing a patrol mission around the more decayed areas near the west. Graffiti was a lot more common, citizens were more angry, windows were broken. Naturally we avoided them when actual disorder was happening. One time a bunch of angry citizens, no older than 20, attacked a vort with objects just laying out. I told the officer next to me about it, in my most forced emotionless voice to avoid seeming sentimental. He simply said “It doesn’t affect us.”

When I relayed this info to the Resistance, about how those areas might be decent havens against the Combine, Eli shook his head. 

“That district won’t help us,” he mourned. “We tried organizing with them in the past, they were too hard-hit by the Combine to trust us. They’re walled off and only think about getting past the next day.”

The outskirts were messier because resistance outposts were more common, so I was brought to them after I gained enough trust as a complacent observer. They drove out to the highway and spotted a shack. To this day, I don’t know what made them think to check this useless looking thing. I guess it was too obvious looking? We got out and investigated it. I was behind both as they were kneeling down, looking for secret spaces. It would’ve been a perfect chance to knock them out. But I had to keep my cool as eager as I was. 

One heard a commotion from below and ended up finding a trapdoor under a rug. The other went in and both of them ran down to beat the citizens senseless. It was frantic. The people were screaming in such a high pitch and clutching onto others who already had their skulls cracked open. One woman tried to fight them off and her nose was smashed in instantly. I was too chilled to move or even talk. The officers checked around and then turned to me. They called me a bunch of fun names mocking my cowardice, but didn’t really hold it against me. They got their bragging rights for killing 4 people in a day. I was ordered to check the bodies so I know it was 4. There wasn’t a single lambda on any of them.

I had severe nightmares after that. I would replay them every few days. Some rebels said I woke them up from the screaming. My lack of good sleep gave me an excuse to give a small vacation from the CP, who were too apathetic to care. 

The information I told the Resistance, from police routes, to safe zones, to lines of communication… those were all valuable. It was my only relief from this fucking job. I needed something to calm me, especially since I was an anchor for a lot of old and young rebels.

So I took a smaller job training, and it hurts to say it, the last generation. Weapons, hacking, repairing, all that. Alyx being one of them, and a damn resilient one at that. But even that got to me. The kids were never really taught anything that wasn’t toward survival. Their idea of fun was pretending to be fought and shot dead, very from jokes, or hitting headcrabs with sticks. The kids are alright, eh?

After some time, I came back to the CP as the resistance was picking up speed. I was so long gone that the officers took me in without the buzz cut. How sweet of them. 

I wanted to be more domestic to avoid more mental abuse, and I decided on a more local approach. The rebels knew enough about outer networks anyway, so now I could be more specialized. It wasn't too bad, though it might be the fatigue kicking in. 

It was more of a godsend to come back to a home base and drink up and joke around, or fool around with reproduction not being a concern. The contrast was so different from the Combine. Those officers were so… affable. How they talked about family and get-togethers with such casualness. If I felt too chummy, I remember what they do "others" and I kept at a distance.

A call was given to us about another riot and we were sent out. Run of the mill stuff. This time we were swamped by the number of ambushers behind us. I can't say I blame them, but the rebels attacked us with such heat that my head rattled around from the punches.

There was no way to say it was me without screwing my position, so I had to hope my screams would sound close to my voice to stop them. I ended up getting a concussion, but at least I got out alive by cooler heads who dragged me out of the fray. I was healed up quickly, and thankfully my Hollywood-worthy good looks were intact. I didn't bother to ask about the other officers.

I tried to stay back from then on to avoid another close call against my friends. Gestures and other body movements like shrinking my shoulders were among the stuff I talked about with the others. But it all seemed detached, like part of me didn’t care if I got killed in a frenzy. Not as long as I helped people eat away at the Combine’s power. I’d say this thought was about a weekly occurrence.

But things began to look up. Not only did I get access to an assload of data, but Gordon arrived on that same day! Boy it was something to see his friendly face again. And whatever he used to keep his face looking like it did 20 years, I want to triple that amount for myself. That Red Letter Day really gave me a ray of light in that shitty mole job. All those beatings and sights finally had some payback, and I can’t _wait_ to give those rejects a taste of their own medicine.__


End file.
